


The rice bearer

by Mitskirise



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:41:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29437698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mitskirise/pseuds/Mitskirise
Summary: They, Shinsuke and Alan, have a hundred and nine days to be together. Sometimes even more, because harvest times do not always coincide with the start of the sports season. That's a lot. One hundred and nine days. They should be enough.They are not enough, however.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Ojiro Aran
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	The rice bearer

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Portatore di riso](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154050) by [Mikirise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikirise/pseuds/Mikirise). 



  
  


Alan's hands are different from the hands of his classmates. 

He hadn't realized it before. Being aware of your body is something that comes with time, is not innate, as everyone thinks. Or, at least, it's not innate to everyone. Alan was rediscovering himself after a little boy had made a comment Alan didn't quite understand. He wanted to ask his mom what that little boy wanted to tell him. 

That boy had pulled his hand back, when Alan had offered it, to help him. 

Alan had heard, somewhere, in other places, someone saying something similar to his mom and he wished he had some  _ clarification _ . He wanted to know the situation. He wanted to understand what was going on.

They always said Alan was more mature than other children. His father used to say it with pride and his mother used to say it with a sad expression. _ Isn't that a good thing? _ Alan used to ask. Being more mature than others, being less childish, isn't that nice? Thinking about it now, no, Alan doesn't believe children need to be more mature than their age requires. Some things shouldn't be said and things that children shouldn't face, especially not alone. But he was happy at the time. Back then, it was a good thing to think before acting. Alan felt it as a medal of honor. Children found him odd, or boring, or stupid at times, but it was fine with Alan. He was  _ too mature _ to care. 

But that day they had said something to him about his hands and he just looked at them, because  _ he didn't understand. _

Alan went round and round. He had never realized his hands were different from those of his classmates, but once he drew attention to them, he could no longer take his eyes off any difference. The shape of the nails, the lines of the palm, the darker knuckles.  _ Maybe _ that's why they didn't want to touch him. It was  _ certainly _ for this reason, for his hands, that Alan had felt the need to get away from the park. And he found himself there. He didn't even know where  _ there _ was, or how far from home  _ there _ was.

Alan had knelt beside a little boy he didn't know, with gray hair and eyes pointing downwards, and he felt that child had put some fresh soil on his palm.

Alan doesn't remember how he met that child. He didn't even remember his name, or how old they were, at the time. He doesn't remember what they were doing in that specific part of the city, or what specific part of the city it was. But he remembers that child was sitting composed, with his knees tight and the eyes of someone who had seen so many things and said to him  _ ah, it's you, _ when he saw Alan coming as if they already knew each other. Or as if he were waiting for Alan. 

He had dirt in his hand.  _ They had _ both dirt in their hands. Alan frowned and moved his hand, rubbing the dirt against his palm. It was a good feeling. Relaxing. He almost wanted to smile, but...

Alan's hands were different from those of that child sitting next to him, in the same way, they were different from that child he wanted to help in the park. That child had hands that seemed to be stained with dirt and his skin was smooth and white against the brown dirt, while for Alan it was quite the opposite. 

The thing that bothered Alan most was those furrows in the skin. They looked like lines that cast shadows all around his hand. He never liked his knuckles. He always tried to keep his hands closed or withdrawn so as not to show this difference between himself and others. He felt as if this feature of his was bad. Alan couldn't explain. Maybe the point was he had never seen anything like his hands. The nails are too big. The fingers are too thin. He never liked them. No. He hadn't seen them on any other hand like his. There was a time when he even thought he hated them. His nails, his knuckles, his hands. 

That child had looked up at Alan and then went back to playing with the dirt. He didn't seem to be the kind of person who talked a lot. But, if he remembers that day well, Alan had stayed there because he had heard him cry and he doesn't like when people cry. 

That child still had red eyes, but he sniffed, ran a hand over his face, and greeted Alan with an  _ ah, it's you. _ Then he took a garden tool that appeared to be from a children's garden kit and started digging a hole. 

"What are we doing?" Alan asked in a low voice. It was an isolated place and it was still sunny. It must have been a very hot spring day, or a very cool summer day. Alan frowned and saw how that child had put the dirt in the hole, along with some nutshells. With calculated gestures, he had placed seeds in the hole and turned to Alan, blinking as if expecting something. "Hey," Alan protested when the child took his hand, to drop the dirt into the hole. He had pulled his hands back and nearly fell backward. But the child hadn't let go of his hand.

He had taken Alan by the wrist, to make him regain his balance and had been staring at him for a few seconds, before turning to the hole he had dug and then filled. "Could you help me?" he asked, turning again. “I know it's a peach tree. I want to call it Naoki, though."

Alan didn't know what he was talking about. He didn't understand what was going on, what kind of ritual they had just done because this little boy was sure they knew each other.

The child swallowed. "I know the rhythms of the earth are what they are and my parents have to do what they have to do," he said in a broken voice. The boy licked his lips and was still looking at the mound of dirt in front of them. “I also know that you always look at us. I wasn't crying. "

He was  _ obviously _ crying. Alan shifted his weight from side to side. That was awkward. As mature as he might have been, he didn't know what he should do in similar situations, so in a panic, he had offered what he hadn't allowed seconds before. Alan had held out his hand to him, so that child could take it and hold it and know that he was not alone. At least. Alan hoped it could be like that for him.

When that child took his hand, Alan realized they both had dirt on their hands. And that child's hand was perhaps also full of snot. But he didn't let go, because he heard him murmur: “Your hands are strong. Kind too. I like them." That child kept his forehead low, looked at the dirt, as if at any moment the tree he had just planted could suddenly sprout, like in  _ My Neighbor Totoro, _ by pure magic. And he seemed sincere. Honest.

Of course, that didn't cure Alan's near-disgust for his hands. During his teenage years, he tried everything not to show them to the people around him, and as much as he recognized the importance of his hands in the career he had chosen (his mom still cries when Alan reminds her he’s a professional athlete) _ (you could have been a doctor! _ she always sighs) (Alan doesn’t understand why he should have been a doctor) there are times when he hates those furrows and the color of the lines on his hands and the nail at the end of his fingers. But Alan always thinks that that child had taken his hand without hesitation. That child  _ liked _ those hands. That child had clung to them. In the same way, Alan might have clung to himself. His hands -those hands supported someone. They can't be that bad then.

Years later, during his third year of university, Kita took him to that part of the city he had forgotten, holding Alan by the hand, because, according to Kita, Alan seemed to be very distracted that day, who knows why, and they passed under a peach tree. 

"Its name is Naoki," Kita told Alan, with his eyes down, his monotonous voice, but also one side of his lips seemed to want to bend upwards. Kita dragged Alan to his house because his grandmother said she wanted to be the first to know if Kita had found someone to take to the  _ matsuri _ (a turn of phrase the Kitas use to say a boyfriend). 

(The really funny thing about that day is they hadn't even finished talking about their feelings that Alan had seen in Kita the resolution of a man with a mission.) _ (Grandma wants to see me married, _ he explained,  _ she is also a little embarrassing, but at least she knows I'm trying.) (Very romantic, _ was Alan's reply, with a grimace.) (Kita thought about it for a few seconds, before nodding and replying:  _ you're right, it's very romantic.) _ (And Alan laughed.) (Because he liked that idiot.)

"But it's a peach tree," Alan whispered that time and, in a moment as rare as fleeting, Kita had turned to him and smiled, the most sincere and kind smile Alan had ever seen on his face, as Shinsuke squeezed Alan’s hand.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


A year is divided into seasons. Seasons are divided into months, which are divided into days which are divided into hours. And there are sleeping hours, as well as waking hours. 

Shinsuke repeats this to himself, sitting on the floor, with his knees together and the backs of his feet pressed against the floor. He can't sleep. He looks at the cell phone in front of him and hears the rain falling against the roof above him as if it wants to remind him of where and when he is. The seasons are divided into months that are divided into... Shinsuke repeats it as if it were a prayer. He closes his eyes. 

A year has three hundred and sixty-five days. Each season, more or less, lasts about ninety days, ninety or ninety-one, depending on the season. The months last from twenty-eight to thirty-one days. 

The rain beats a little harder and Shinsuke runs a hand under his eye. He has to decide what to do now. Take a decision based on logic. He moves his toes and takes a deep breath. Then. Three hundred and sixty-five days.

A harvest season can last up to five months. One month for sowing, three or four months for growing plants, and a few weeks for harvesting. So the harvest season can be one hundred and twenty days, distributed between autumn and spring and the first weeks of summer. Winter is full of work to keep rice seedlings. Shinsuke spends most of his time hunched over the rice fields pulling weeds and returns home with indescribable back pain. But he doesn't complain. It's something he likes. Four months means one hundred and twenty days, more or less. These one hundred and twenty days can even be doubled if the weather is good enough. So, in good planting and harvesting times, Shinsuke's season could last two hundred and forty days.

A sporting season, more or less, lasts three solar seasons. Three solar seasons are two hundred and seventy solar days, from which the two weeks of winter holidays are to be subtracted. Two hundred and fifty-six. In these two hundred and fifty-six days, Alan never has a real rest. Sports seasons want athletes to stay in good shape and for teams to continue to be evaluated and athletes tested, to see how far they can go with their physical strength, to fight for their place on the team.

It's not something Alan and Shinsuke haven't already thought of. When Alan sent the various proposals to the professional teams, Shinsuke sat down and assumed he could make any choice he wanted, took a map, and checked the distances between the teams' houses and his home and Alan sighed, sitting down next to him, because certain things, he always says, he prefers to do them together, instead of doing them secretly.

These are things to evaluate. Their relationship, as far as they can tell, has only just begun. There are risks Alan has to take to his career and Shinsuke had to be sure he could get a backlash. Space and time are essential. If this becomes a long-distance relationship then... (they didn't even have time to create a routine of their own.) (They wasted their high school years.) (You needed a solid foundation to make sure you could handle the distance and  _ they wasted high school years.) _ Shinsuke also had to be sure Alan put his career first and didn't know how else to do it except by calming himself down, with math accounts, and mathematically showing that it wouldn't be that bad. To himself. To Alan, too.

They took a pencil and pen and did their math then. They had taken a calendar and marked the holidays, those they think should be spent with their family, and those they could spend together. Alan had held Shinsuke’s hand the whole time. It was something Shinsuke liked a lot. He loves Alan's hands. He couldn't say it out loud.

There are times in Shinsuke's seasons when he can take a breath and stay home to sleep and follow a routine created especially for his rest days. There are days off for Alan too, even if they are sporadic. His whole life is not volleyball. The problem lies in the trips, the intensive training sessions... Alan indeed has the summer free, but it is also true that he must train, in order not to lose confidence with the ball. His life is not only volleyball, but volleyball sure takes a lot of his time and thoughts. And  _ that's okay. _ This too had already been considered by Shinsuke.

They have a hundred and nine days to be in the city or the countryside together. Sometimes even more, because harvest times do not always coincide with the start of the sports season. That's a lot. One hundred and nine days. They should be enough. Shinsuke should have enough.

They are not enough, however.

Shinsuke sighs. This is not a good course of thought. He's about to take his cell phone. He is one step away from doing so. His heart sings at the thought of being able to hear Alan's voice, at the thought of him answering. (As well as it hurts thinking Alan could not hear his cell phone and answer.) Shinsuke has to hold on to reality now.

If Shinsuke was okay losing a few hours of sleep, for Alan being on the field at one hundred and twenty percent is more than important. It’s vital. 

The seasons are divided into months which are divided into weeks which are divided into days and the days are divided into hours. To be full of energy, Shinsuke has calculated this too, Alan needs to sleep at least seven and a half hours a night. He timed it, as he had timed the sleep time of his entire high school team, because that was his job as a captain, to make sure no one was doing anything stupid and self-destructive. According to what he understood of Alan's routine, to sleep eight consecutive hours (because it is better to sleep in excess than in lack), he should go to sleep at ten in the evening (with two pillows on the bed and preferably two blankets, so as not to kick them and not remain uncovered) and then wake up at six in the morning, take his morning run, have breakfast and then go to train (at seven in the morning).

Now it’s eleven in the evening. 

Shinsuke moves his toes again. This reasoning isn't convincing him not to pick up the phone and dial in Alan's number and call him, so he has to keep thinking logically. He clenches his fists against his pajama pants. There must be a way to convince himself this is childish and illogical. Or at least, that it's such childish and illogical it could be a problem. 

_ One hundred and nine days isn't a long time, _ Alan had said, sitting next to Shinsuke, when they did the math.  _ And I don't care about the eight hours of sleep if you want to talk to me at two in the morning. It's OK for me. I'd be happy to hear you non-talk.  _

_ But there are priorities, _ Shinsuke had pointed out. This relationship of theirs must take a back seat when it comes to responsibility, or, as in this case, career. Shinsuke has to think about Alan's career, especially if Alan behaves like a child.  _ There are routines to follow for your mental and physical well-being.  _

Our _ physical and mental well-being _ had corrected Alan, with a raised eyebrow.

_ What did I say? _ Shinsuke had replied, looking back at that one hundred and nine written in large letters on the sheet. He had done a similar thing when his parents went to work on their rice fields when he was little. One hundred and nine days can be a long time. But they pass quickly. Two hundred and fifty-six, however, never seem to pass. 

Alan's idea was to come to the country whenever he can, but that could tire him out for trivial reasons. Traveling hundreds of miles just because he wants to see Shinsuke? It’s not a logical thing. His energies should be focused on - volleyball.

That day, while they were sitting at the table of the Ojiro house and Shinsuke looked at the paper with intensity and with so many thoughts in his head, he remembers how Alan put a hand on his cheek and then kissed him on the forehead. He said:  _ call me at two in the morning if you want to. _

Shinsuke feels a stomach ache. He almost has the instinct to bend over and press his face to the floor, but that's not something he wants to do. He closes his eyes, takes another deep breath, and stands up. 

Alan has to sleep and Shinsuke wants to make some tea.

(And these are so many words to say that Shinsuke misses Alan.)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It's the fifteenth day of two hundred and fifty-six and Shinsuke knows he can survive these three seasons. He also knows that Alan will be able to survive. He knows they will be fine. Fifteen out of two hundred and fifty-six. Two hundred and forty-one days missing.

Shinsuke puts on his rubber boots and adjusts his pants so they don't come out of his boots. He moves his foot in a circle, checks if he can move without any problem, and goes over the list of things to do in his head. 

Waking up, making breakfast, waking up grandma, feeding her, making her lunch, in case she gets sick, training volleyball, getting ready to go to the fields, working, eating, working, going home, making dinner, training volleyball, eating with the grandma, some time with the grandma to do whatever she wants to do and then go to sleep. 

It's not a cleaning day at home, he'll do it on Saturday, and he doesn't have to do the laundry. Given the weather, he thinks he won't be able to take care of the seedlings the next few days and he might even spend the time doing -Shinsuke sighs. Whatever he wants to do, he wonders. Maybe he'll dust off the silverware, he hasn't done this in a while.

His grandma, when he was little, always said someone is watching them and, for a while, Shinsuke believed it. Not that anyone was watching him and that he had to clean and wash and he doesn't even remember what else, but that there were gods. They sure had better things to do than watch a child, but he knew they existed somewhere, even if only in his and his grandmother's minds. It was something that calmed him as a child.

Grandma puts her hand on his head, combing his hair to the side, while Shinsuke lifts his head towards her. If he has decided to stay in Hyogo, it is for his grandmother. It feels right to him to stay with her after she had been with him for so long. His family's rice fields are not that big and his production is mostly local, setting aside the bags of rice he sends to Osamu. 

Moving to the countryside has been good for his grandmother's complexion and he doesn’t like the idea of losing sight of her and not being able to always be near her, in case something happens, or in case nothing happens. His grandma is the kind of person who always finds a reason to smile. She says she smiles more when Shinsuke is around.

Grandma dragged him into what his former teammates called the Kita rituals. Hand washing, reverential bowing, training, are all rituals with no other reason than their repetition. That is important. Recreate moments and movements always in the same way, so as not to lose sight of what is important, what is real.

Grandma runs her thumb under Shinsuke's eye and makes a disappointed grimace, shaking her head. "You have to rest, Shinsuke," she tells him. "Did you sleep well tonight?"

Shinsuke thinks about it. "I slept six and a half hours" is the answer he decides to give. Because admitting he had not very mature thoughts and wanted to call Alan in the middle of the night was not something he would like to say to his grandmother. He looks down, to check that he has arranged everything to go to work. The hat is on the floor next to him and he has to adjust the gloves on his hands. "I'm not tired, grandma."

Grandma smiles. “There are various types of fatigue,” she reminds him. 

Shinsuke shrugs and ties the gloves around his wrist. “You don't have to worry, Grandma. I'm not a child." 

His physical and mental well-being is important. He doesn't know why everyone thinks the opposite, but the truth is that Shinsuke cares a lot about his body, he knows how important it is to wash it and take care of it, he would never leave it in disastrous conditions, he would never collapse in the middle of the fields. 

He takes his hat, to put it on his head. 

"You are. A little bit" she replies, letting the hat fall on his shoulders (thank goodness Shinsuke has already tied it around his neck) and ruffling his hair she had just combed. Shinsuke frowns, Grandma laughs softly. "When you were little, the first few weeks your parents worked the fields, you couldn't sleep well." She says it as if this is a missing piece in his nephew's head, but, to be honest, Shinsuke doesn't understand why they should talk about this right now. Do they have to talk about it right now? It was embarrassing.

Shinsuke blinks, grandma passes her hands under his eyes, massaging the part of the skin on which there are dark circles. 

"Grandma" he calls her with a grimace on his lips. He takes her wrist, with all the delicacy he has in his body, and smiles at her. "Today I cook, okay?"

Grandmother shakes her head. "The day I eat your tasteless fish will be the day you kill your grandmother."

Shinsuke sighs.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It is the eighteenth day out of two hundred and fifty-six.

What he likes about rice is that there must be special conditions for it to sprout. The water must cover at least five centimeters, the nutrients must be in the soil, he also likes the fact that the rice grain requires high temperatures to be able to grow strongly. In Japan, not all regions can fulfill these conditions. From Tokyo upwards, it snows at some point in the year and they can't make a second harvest. It can also happen here, the snow, but the chances are lower and the summer harvests are so abundant they have no problem storing the rice. And yet, despite all these conditions and despite the increasingly smaller fields for its production, rice is the staple of Japanese cuisine. 

Shinsuke keeps his back bent as he pulls out the weeds. He can see his reflection in the water and then a layer of dark brown earth under the water. And it is perhaps one of the most beautiful views he can imagine. 

His family has five rice fields. This one was entrusted to Shinsuke and some of his cousins. They take care of planting and following the seedlings at different times. For example, Shinsuke's parents will start planting next month and some of his uncles will start in two months, and his other uncles in three and still others in four. This should help cover possible frosts and high rice demand as well. It is a division of labor. And one of the greatest fortunes that have happened to him is that he likes rice fields very much, as he likes to work the earth and to follow well-established rhythms.

Shinsuke has done his homework, he knows these things. Try to tear off the seedlings from the root, use strength in the arms, try not to hurt the seedlings.

Precisely because the conditions rice dictates to grow are so difficult to fulfill, all the legends and divinities that all of them know today were born. Shinsuke thinks about this a lot. His grandma has always been very attached to the figures of the gods. She likes to say they watch us and she likes going to the  _ matsuri,  _ she says that's where you present the person you're dating, and she likes those festivals because all those rituals have always been the same. The  _ taiko _ is played this year, as it was played last year, or two years ago, or even fifty years ago. The  _ matsuri _ does not change, the festivals neither and perhaps not even the deities. That's what grandma likes, and what Shinsuke likes too. The repetitiveness. The rite. The security. 

Before the planting season, there is a  _ matsuri _ that occurs in the dry river. That river, if the gods are in a good mood and happy to help poor human beings unable to change the climate and the environment, during the winter season, should fill with water. Water is a blessing. Etcetera etcetera etcetera. To Shinsuke this all sounds like superstition without any foundation, but, as he said, he likes the idea of a ritual. 

He told Alan once, in their third year, that in reality human beings are more than capable of transforming the environment around him and, it seems, also the climate, albeit for the worse. 

They were sitting on a hill, the green grass below them, as they waited for the annual fireworks, with the weather team around them, screaming, fighting like there was no tomorrow. It would be their last  _ matsuri _ altogether. Shinsuke's heart squeezed a little. His team was - _ is. _ His team is his greatest pride. He would have liked to accompany them longer in their growth.

Shinsuke couldn't live in the city. He never knows where to go, he hates the absence of seasons. 

To Alan all of this, Shinsuke's idea of matsuri and also of the idea of change man brings to the world, had seemed very arrogant. He, on the other hand, could not live in the countryside. Too many suspicious looks, too many people who refuse to see him for real, and, of course, the lack of volleyball would take away much of what he wants to be. According to Alan, however, some things are part of the tradition you can't lose, unless you want to lose a part of your identity.

Neither of them liked their team motto.  _ We don't need memories. _ Yes  _ but. _ Yes, they needed it. They had to start from their memories, to improve. But this isn't a conversation the two of them had at the time. Shinsuke had turned his head to Alan and tilted it a little and Alan frowned and asked him if he had something on his face, with a half-laugh.

Shinsuke stands up and stretches his back, to rest a little from the bent position. Above them, there is no sun, only gray clouds. It will rain. Shinsuke sighs.

At that moment, while they were waiting for the fireworks and while their team was being silly and shouting, Shinsuke had received from who knows what mind, who knows what body, the sudden urge to take Alan's hand and then kiss his cheek. And the worst part was that while he was saying that no, it wasn't something he had to do, his body had moved by itself and he was back sitting with a sudden feeling of panic and an empty head. No thoughts. He had pulled back, letting go of Alan's hand, and focused on the sky, where, after a few seconds, fireworks, dozens and dozens of fireworks would bloom. Alan smiled and let him pretend nothing had happened. 

The real problem with Alan is that Shinsuke stops thinking with him and it's a scary thing. Having feelings so strong they make you act without thinking,  _ without even having time to think _ is scary. 

In retrospect, Shinsuke tried to explain his gesture in various ways. His theory was he had always lacked effective methods to show his affection, so he had done what he thought was an immediate gesture to make himself understood without saying anything. But he was just rationalizing. He wasn't listening to what he had to listen to.

He wasted time. If he had been less naive at the moment, he would have been safer at the moment of Alan's departure. 

Shinsuke frowns. There is a fox. He snorts. There is  _ the _ fox. He turns to it and puts his hands together, then makes a half bow. The fox, in the middle of the tall grass, raises its muzzle and makes its shrill cry, trouble, seems to be laughing. It turns around and sits down on the grass, looking at Shinsuke.

"Oh!" exclaims cousin Toshio, a few meters away from him. “Your snack partner has arrived. It means it's time to eat! "

Shinsuke glances at him then he looks at the fox. Snack companion, they say. Eh. And yet they were all raised on bread and legends. He moves in the middle of the water, careful not to step on the plants. 

Strangely, only Shinsuke has thought of Inari's messengers.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s the twenty-third day out of two hundred and fifty-six.

Shinsuke sets the cups of tea on the coffee table in front of the television, then passes it to his grandmother, who does nothing but point to the television and whisper, "Oh, that's Alan-kun." As if it were the first official match they saw with him. But Shinsuke doesn't mind, so he arranges the saucers and cookies, then brings the cup of hot tea to his lips. 

Shinsuke sticks his legs into the kotatsu and already feels much better than he felt a few seconds before. His shoulders are stiff from exertion and a little bit of back pain. He has to fix his posture. He's already asked Toshio for advice. And seeing Alan relaxes him, even if only in a game and even if Alan can't see him.

In the family, Shinsuke is very often teased because of his habits. They say it’s strange he trains in volleyball, even if he had never entered an official match before his high school third year and even if, after graduation, he had not played with any team. 

Grandma always sighs and talks about how today's young people express love in the same way yesterday's youth did. She sat on the porch, the last time, while Shinsuke kept his arms raised to not lose his control of the ball and had put a hand on her cheek, in a theatrical way. When Shinsuke asked her what she was thinking, Grandma sighed and shrugged.

Alan's expression is focused when the camera catches him. He keeps his back curved, his feet planted firmly on the floor, as well as his arms wide open, to follow every movement on the court. "Ojiro," says the commentator on television and Shinsuke blinks, "looks in great shape." And Alan spikes, without wasting time, with all the strength he has. He has always been elegant, he has always been frightening in his power. The camera catches him. Alan runs his arm over his lip to wipe away the sweat.

He has dark circles. 

Shinsuke feels he’s withdrawing his lips and making them a thin line, while the thought settles in his head and sprouts with all the consequences it brings. Alan has dark circles. He can see them. He doesn't want to take the remote and go back and look better, but he saw them, he's sure of what he saw and left the cup in midair, his fingers almost on fire for how hot the cup is, but - he is sure of what he saw.

Shinsuke blinks and bites his inner cheek insistently. Alan has dark circles. Isn't he sleeping seven and a half hours a day? What does he do instead of sleeping? Why isn't he taking care of himself? Doesn't he know it's important? 

If Shinsuke had any free time now, he would take the train or the plane and fly to Tokyo to tug at his ears and tell him he's making him worry. 

In shape.  _ In shape _ the commentator says, Alan doesn't seem in shape in Shinsuke's eyes. 

Yes, it's true, he is a strong player, his power does not have equal in the court and it is above all thanks to this that he is rarely bricked, but his movements are anything but precise, he is making many useless movements, he is not thinking.

Shinsuke frowns and leaves the cup on the coffee table. He swallows. He needs to calm down. Stop thinking and acting like a hot-headed idiot with control issues. He is not like that. Therefore. He needs to drink his tea and calm down. 

"He scored!" exclaims the grandmother, joining her hands, to imitate applause. She seems to be enjoying herself. This is a good thing. Perfect. "Alan-kun is such a good guy."

Shinsuke gives her a quick look. "Yeah" he replies. Tighten your gaze, following the game on the screen. When the camera focuses on Alan, Shinsuke checks his face and movements, but his impression doesn't change much. 

He takes his cell phone from his pocket and hurries to type a message.  _ What has changed? _ he asks. He's not just talking about the game, sure, but he thinks that's what he wants to ask him for now. Those moves… that way of playing... There is something wrong. 

Shinsuke looks down. He knows what has changed, but he wants to give Alan the impression that there is no difference between their playing together in high school and his playing pro (alone). It should help him to know he's watching him. Shinsuke watches all of Alan's games, always. 

He rubs one eye and feels his grandmother caress his back and take his head, to pull him towards her and make him lie on the floor. "Ah," she says quietly, as she strokes his head. "You look very tired, but sometimes all you need to do is grit your teeth a little and everything will work out in the best possible way."

Shinsuke is not tired.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It's the twenty-seventh day out of fifty-six. 

There are two hundred twenty-nine days to the season with Alan and twenty-six days to the winter break of the sports season. Shinsuke is too happy because of this. He almost feels guilty for feeling so happy about something so… mundane, like the return of her boyfriend. It seems to be one of those things a tragic heroine would say in some play, as she waits for her beloved on a cliff, looking out at the stormy sea.

Shinsuke almost laughs at the idea. What nonsense. He has so many other things to do, he certainly can't only wait for Alan. 

He takes his onigiri and looks at the rice fields, which reflect the gray sky. It's not too cold and it shouldn't snow. It seems like the perfect time for rice. They don't usually plant during the fall and winter period, because they don't know how the weather might behave. In January, it could snow and all the seeds they planted could go to waste. But last year they were lucky, the production was abundant and it would have been a shame not to take advantage of it. Even if it freezes (hopefully not) they could stem the damage and, in any case, they are building greenhouses precisely to face a similar problem. The fields used for spring sowing are different, then and have been left to rest. They have thought of everything. They can do nothing but hope for the best.

Alan, on the phone, told Shinsuke _you've thought of everything, I'm sure_ _that your cousins didn't care about these things._ And then he laughed. _You have to sleep, Alan, you have to sleep,_ was the answer Shinsuke gave him. 

If Alan doesn't sleep, why is he over there? To lose? He has to take care of his body, especially since it’s thanks to it he has a job he likes. Alan had heard Shinsuke scold him, without answering.

Shinsuke was angrier that he didn't know Alan wasn't sleeping, rather than the fact itself. And he was angry, a little annoyed because in all those sleepless nights Alan spent alone in Tokyo, he never once thought about texting him, or calling him. Of course, he didn't tell Alan that. What petulant child would he have looked like otherwise? No. Better focus on what he could say. 

Alan had waited patiently for Shinsuke to finish before replying with a:  _ I love you too. _

That's okay, though:  _ that wasn't what we were talking about, _ Shisuke reminded him.

Shinsuke snorts, dividing his onigiri with the part of rice only and then the part with rice and fish and offers the second part to the fox that comes to visit him now and then. The fox watches over the rice fields as if they were his own. It must love them very much, it must think of this place as his home.

The foxes are related to Inari due to a language error. 

Shinsuke always thinks about this thing. 

Kitsune and foxes are related, according to legends, because they made a mistake during the transcriptions of the deity of agriculture. Just as Inari was linked to the divinity by pure mistake of a ninth-century hand. Rice and foxes and temples are therefore linked by a fortuitous mistake that has become important for the formation of cultural identity.

Shinsuke turns to the road and, if he looks closely, he can see, at the foot of a green hill, a  _ torii _ that should lead to a temple. He doesn't know how long rice has been grown in this village, or how long that temple has risen among the rice fields, but they aren't there by chance. 

Shinsuke raises a hand, to let the fox know he would try to stroke his fur. And the fox is too busy eating to do anything. Seen this way, it looks just like a dog. Shinsuke doesn't understand why it likes him so much and why it only comes close to him. He strokes its head and watches the fox raise its muzzle so it can look him in the eye. A canid always remains a canid. The fox almost immediately loses interest and goes back to eating.

According to his family, Shinsuke is a favorite of the deities. Because he moves and talks and acts like a Shinto deity would like and must be why rice fields are fine when he takes care of them. It’s a very naive theory. The rice fields are fine because Shinsuke does what he has to do and nothing less. But he understands their need to put the gods there, when they face a change, so he never says anything, especially because he is afraid that this would want to say could hurt his grandmother.

But, if it were true that Shinsuke is a favorite of the gods, then... Shinsuke frowns. 

"If it is true that you are a messenger from Inari" he whispers, bringing the onigiri to his mouth. "The rice bearer is not that far away."

A rice bearer protecting the temple. Taken literally, Inari could also be him, or Toshio. He doesn't know if the rice fields protect anything, or if he can protect something, but he's pretty sure this is something that doesn’t matter. 

"If it’s true and you are an Inari messenger, and if it really works, can I ask you to give me a few more days?" he asks in an even lower voice. 

How embarrassing. But it's fine. There is no one around him. 

“I don't mean every year. Just - a few more days this year. "

He closes his eyes and runs two fingers over his forehead. What a baby. He had made a similar request when he was little now that he remembers it. A few more days. Not that they come back sooner, nor that they stop leaving. But if they could stay for a little longer. A few days, a few hours, as long as they have a little more time together.

The fox is wailing. It seems to be laughing. It gets rid of Shinsuke's caress and runs away. 

How strange. 

It’s the first time it has done such a thing.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s the thirty-third day out of two hundred and fifty-six, when Shinsuke is stretching his back, thrown out of the kitchen by his grandmother and, as he sighs, walking towards the living room, he sees Alan at the entrance with a suitcase and a hand raised to greet him.

This is impossible, Shinsuke's head shouts because the winter break will start in twenty-one days (he did the count) and before coming to see him, Alan has to go to his family for a few days. For the Ojiro family, Christmas is important and Shinsuke could bear not to be with Alan for Christmas Eve. There are twenty-one days left, plus a few more days, so it can't be possible that Alan is at the entrance of his house, with that idiotic expression of his. 

Shinsuke must be delusional, maybe he should go lie down. 

The other part of his brain just screams at him, though, that Alan is there. He  _ is _ there. Shinsuke had been waiting for him for thirty-three days. What was he waiting for to run up to him and hug him? Wasn't that what they wanted?

Shinsuke looks around and takes a single step forward. He feels his whole body paralyzed with indecision. He doesn't know what he should do at this point. Maybe… He blinks and hasn't even turned on the light. It could be some kind of visual hallucination, or his eye mistaking Alan for a jacket.

Shinsuke is not crazy. He slept enough hours and ate well. No part of his body hurts, he has rested for the past two days, as the sowing time is over and he is sure he is not hallucinating. 

"Alan?" he asks. He doesn't even have enough imagination to see Alan standing there in that sports suit. Shinsuke takes another step forward.

"Surprise" Alan whispers, raising his hands as if throwing confetti. "They gave us a week off before intensive training and I thought why not?"

Shinsuke opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He takes the last steps that separate him from Alan, staying on the wooden floor just before the step under which they keep all their shoes and slippers and stretches out his arms, to pull Alan down, towards him, and hug him. Shinsuke hears Alan laughing and squeezes his head even more tightly. He's here. Shinsuke can feel Alan is here. Shinsuke can touch him. He can smell Alan. And, as he did in what appears to be a very long time ago, Shinsuke kisses Alan’s head. He stands up on tiptoe to kiss his forehead, but only reaches eye level and then kisses those. He's going to kiss his whole face. If Alan is here for real, Shinsuke intends to kiss every part of his body, with the same devotion with which he treats his rice sprouts, until they both get fed up and want to do something else.

There are still those dark circles. Shinsuke thinks he could do like his grandmother. He might kiss them away, or massage them away. Slowly. With delicacy. 

"This year we can spend one hundred and sixteen days together," Alan tells him, while Shinsuke kisses his nose. He places his hands on the sides of Shinsuke's face and brings their foreheads together. "We have our extra days."

Shinsuke puts a hand on Alan's. "You have to take a shower," he replies.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Seven days with Alan go by too quickly. 

They’re already in fifth and Shinsuke has this stupid desire to slow down the hours of the day, because running errands with Alan, or even just hearing him talk while fixing the garden tools, setting for him to spike, as well as receiving his spikes is fun. Finding Alan at home when he comes back in the evening is reassuring, and taking care of him is relaxing. But they had already done their math and these are days that have been given to them and Shinsuke won't fill them with complaints about how much he wishes there were more. He's not that arrogant. 

Shinsuke holds Alan's hand in his and feels Alan’s chin on his shoulder as he paints his nails to strengthen and not break when he plays volleyball. 

Alan's smell is mixed with his. Usually, Alan smells like cookies. Maybe lavender or vanilla, he is very careful about these things. And now there is an aftertaste in him, reminiscent of Shinsuke's house. And Alan surrounded him in this position. He’s crouched all around Shinsuke. 

If he had less self-control, now Shinsuke would throw off the nail polish and turn to the side to go back to kissing Alan until he ran out of strength. But Shinsuke knows how to restrain himself and knows how to put priorities in the right place. Alan's hands are more important than a stolen kiss. 

Their hands are full of calluses. Alan has them around the palm of his hand. Shinsuke remembers them all, he would be able to draw every callus with his eyes closed and recognize them even without looking. He knows when there are new ones and gave Alan a cream to put on so that the skin doesn't tear and Alan doesn't get hurt. If something is embarrassing an athlete that must be their hands, in the same way, a ballerina doesn't show her feet and obstacle course athletes don't show their legs. Battle wounds, noble as they may seem, belong only to us and to those few to whom we want to show them. 

Alan, right now, is in a position of fragility. And he's allowed himself to be frail because the two of them are together. Being able to put that polish on him is an honor that Shinsuke doesn't want to lose. It’s one of his privileges.

Shinsuke casts a glance at Alan, who rolls his eyes at him. His dark circles have disappeared. Shinsuke has seen him sleep for more than eight hours for five days. He must have made up for most of his overdue sleep. But he can't fly here to sleep every time. He should be able to do this wherever he goes. 

"To sleep well," Shinsuke tells him, returning to focus on Alan's hands, “you have to stop playing on your cell phone when you are in bed. Try this. I saw you on television a few weeks ago and you looked very tired. You have to take care of yourself. "

"Um" is the only answer that comes out of Alan's lips. 

Shinsuke grimaces and pulls his head back, to rub his face against Alan's hair.  _ What's up? What happens? What do you want to tell me? _ This is what he wants to communicate. 

Alan turns and kisses him. He pulls his free hand down, to encircle Shinsuke's body and bring it closer to him, and then kisses Shinsuke again, gently, with that delicacy that Shinsuke has only found in Alan. His kisses caress the lips. His kisses are those of someone who is used to being patient and who wants to wait. 

It's unfair. Alan knows what effect he has on Shinsuke. He knows that every movement and gesture of affection makes Shinsuke melt in Alan’s arms, so really. He is being unfair. Shinsuke moves his lips following Alan, slips into his arms, closes his eyes, and feels their smell and that caress and their hands joined and there is a little voice in his head that says  _ ah, so you will ruin the nail polish, _ and there's an even louder voice in her head that screams  _ Alan! he's kissing Alan! _ and, yet another part of him that… 

“I'm serious” he murmurs, in a hoarse voice, trying to silence that stupid voice that keeps repeating  _ Alan! Alan! Alan! _ “You have to take care of your body. You have to sleep a lot and well to be able to play." He didn't let go of Alan’s hand, so his job wasn't ruined. Well. Shinsuke feels his cheeks go up in flames and the voice in his head is booing, but some things need to be discussed before they do anything else.

They return to their starting position, with Alan and his chin resting on Shinsuke's shoulder and Shinsuke between his legs, trying to resume his nail polish work. 

"Why didn't you ever call me at two in the morning?" Alan asks him. He keeps his eyes on their hands. He bites his lower lip. "There have been nights when I thought you wanted to."

"You are an athlete" Shinsuke repeats for the umpteenth time. He still feels the heat in his cheeks and the base of his neck. He hates being so rational. Shinsuke takes a deep breath. “If I called you at two in the morning, I would have no respect for you or what you want to do with your life. That's why I never called you."

"Would you have wanted to do it?" Alan asks.

Shinsuke blinks. Nearly every day. Every night. Whenever he sees his cell phone. Whenever he sees him in an official match. These are too strong feelings to put into words. 

If Shinsuke could go back, he would tell his high school self not to waste time, to create a relationship with Alan before senior year, because there are too many things to do, too many conversations to have, too many secrets to discover and they don't have time. One hundred and nine days are not enough and Shinsuke would like to always be by Alan's side. But he doesn't know how to say such a thing. He doesn't know how to sum it all up. 

"Yes" he replies, but he too knows that it is not enough.

“I love looking at you in your rice fields. When you see me there or when you turn around and say hello I think how lucky I am to have been chosen by you. Because you are tough to convince. Sometimes I feel like I'm taking the entrance exams when I'm with you. And I wonder if I will pass? Will I disappoint Shinsuke? "

As if Alan could disappoint Shinsuke in some way. He snorts. What an idiot.

Alan laughs softly. “I'm not sad that you love your rice fields and I love volleyball and that this thing takes us to two different places. I love you who love these fields. I love you here. I just want to be with you while you are you. And I miss you. And it's hard to sleep if I miss you. Sometimes I just want to be like that. With you. If you called me - I don't care about the time. Sometimes I just want to hear your voice."

"We often call each other" Shinsuke reminds him, but he understood the meaning of the speech.

These days, Alan has slept well. He slipped into Shinsuke's room and they slept in the same futon, with their feet intertwined and that serenity that Shinsuke had forgotten. He understood what Alan meant. He sleeps better too, with Alan beside him.

Alan sighs and Shinsuke still holds his hand. He brings it to his lips and kisses it, then turns around and - well, the initial plan was to kiss Alan on the lips but Alan curled up against Shinsuke’s shoulder, squeezing him as if he was afraid to let go. 

Shinsuke doesn't even change expression. He knows what it feels like to Alan and, at times, he likes to be unfair.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It is the 120th day out of two hundred and fifty-six when Shinsuke decides that the fox is, necessarily, a messenger from Inari. 

And that Inari somehow actually exists, though not really. 

Or, he doesn't know, it may be or may not be, but he has the feeling that this fox can understand when he's lost in thought and it's like it can understand when he's thinking about Alan. It does not appear on other days. It doesn't appear when Shinsuke is so tired that he can't think. The fox must be somehow related to Alan.

Alan is the only person, other than Grandma, who can make Shinsuke laugh, and when this fox is wailing — it's like he hears Alan. He doesn't know how to explain it.

Shinsuke lies down on the grass, tired, he feels his hands throb and he doesn't even have the strength to move, let alone go home. And he remembers that first meeting with Alan when they were in high school and he was already a volleyball star. 

Told like this, it seems that Shinsuke does nothing but think about Alan, and perhaps it’s also true. 

He was happy to spend the winter holidays with Alan and his scent, mixed with that of dirt and wet grass. He was happy to feel Alan’s head on his chest and to be able to kiss Alan’s head whenever he wanted. He was happy to walk, turn around and tell Alan they would kiss at the same height if he had climbed a step. He was delighted to hear Alan talk to him about everything from his teammates to what he did on winter evenings on the town. 

The seasons feel alone in the city, Alan told him. And he is amazed because they grew up in the city and the snow did not accumulate on the road and the trees that bloomed were on one side of the road, or in the parks.

Shinsuke was so happy that he was afraid he would die when Alan left. But life has continued to flow and he misses Alan, but he doesn't miss him with the same desperation now. 

Shinsuke was sure that, at some point of their distance, Alan would forget about him, because they have been together for a short time, certain relationships cannot overcome the distance. Now, he trusts Alan's memory more. They spent time together. They held hands. They kissed. They slept in the same futon, even though it was uncomfortable, and neither of them complained. How embarrassing. And now he can be childish. He can call Alan at night and hear him talk about how the Ritz Crackers were stolen or how he still couldn't find the right curtains to keep the light out of the house.

Alan always tells Shinsuke he should visit him. Shinsuke always says that Alan should come to him. And they both can't wait for these two hundred and fifty-six days to end.

During their first meeting, in the gym, Shinsuke remembers how Alan dropped the ball next to him. He had rolled and chased it. They had caught the ball at the same time and Alan had pulled back as if he was being burned. His hands were chewed up at the time. He had that bad habit of biting his nails and tearing the skin off his fingers, and yet he didn't seem to be that nervous or anxious. 

The fox smells his face and Shinsuke wrinkles his nose but doesn't move from his position. Instead, stretch your arms to stroke the fox, slowly, without frightening it. 

Alana too was scared. That was why he bit his nails. He was terrified of touching someone and being rejected. It had to be because of the color of his skin, or how children treated him when he was very young, Shinsuke can't know for sure. But the first time he took his hand, Alan's palms were sweaty and he seemed ready to hear Shinsuke say terrible things. When Shinsuke kissed the back of his hand, Alan melted. And Shinsuke wanted to get up on tiptoe and kiss him, kiss him, keep kissing him. It takes so little to make him feel loved. It takes so little to be loved by him. 

Shinsuke strokes the fox.

It’s starting to get less cold and the work in the rice fields is starting to be a lot. But this is also important to him. Alan and the rice fields are equally important to him (and he found that volleyball and Shinsuke are equally important to Alan), so he has to tell him.

"Thank you," he says to the fox, who lies down on his back next to him. 

Shinsuke still does not believe Inari is real and does not believe that it is right to give such big and heavy burdens as hope is too much for poor foxes but - he doesn't want to make his grandma sad. He keeps his voice low, hoping no one is listening or watching him right now. 

“For the week you gave us, thank you and… if you really are their messenger… if it's really what I think, tell Alan I love him. A lot. With everything I have and... how he protects us, I want to protect him."

The fox moves on the grass as if scratching itself and Shinsuke lifts one side of his lips.

He's spending too much time with his grandmother. "It doesn't matter," he murmurs. "I'll tell him."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s the two hundred and fifty-sixth day out of two hundred and fifty-six. 

Tomorrow Alan will be home and he and Shinsuke will have ninety-five consecutive days to spend together, with no one to bother them. 

"Ah, you'll get tired of me," Alan laughs into the phone. He must be packing his suitcase just now. “When we get tired of each other, we could always use the house corners technique. So we give ourselves a kind of time-out."

"Not at all," Shinsuke exclaims sitting up. He holds the phone firmly against his ear. Alan will be here tomorrow. Just endure one night. Just one night. “This summer you stay with me even if you are tired of me. No corners to escape to."

Alan laughs and Shinsuke goes back to lie down on his futon. A few months ago, Alan was there with him and Shinsuke was doing his nail polish. Also in the same week, they played cards with Grandma and Alan had to cheat to lose, because he has this strange belief that Grandma hates him and that he has to do everything to get her approval. It's a little funny, but it's very tender as a thing. Especially when that means Shinsuke can win as many card games as he wants. 

Shinsuke doesn't think he'll be able to sleep tonight. Like children who get very excited the day before going to the amusement parks, he feels just like that and turns to the side and can't help thinking that the next day, Alan will be next to him. He sinks your face into the pillow. Finally. Two hundred and fifty-six days is a long time and they never went by, but tomorrow Alan will be here. 

“I wasn't that excited even when my parents came home,” he confesses in a low voice. He's got the light on and maybe he should turn it off, he's not sure. “Not even during the first year they were away from home, did I get so excited to see them. You can see you are really special to me."

“One day we work on the tone in which you say certain things,” Alan replies. "Since you're telling me you love me."

"I love you, but that's not what I was talking about," Shinsuke retorts.

There is silence on the other side of the phone. Maybe Shinsuke said something that shouldn't have been saying. Or maybe, again, his tone wasn't the best. But he doesn't think he said something wrong. He watches the ceiling while Alan tries to recover. 

"Okay" he hears him say. "Did your parents stay away for a long time?" he asks, clearing her throat.

Shinsuke frowns. "Haven't I ever told you about it?" he asks in turn.

"You always talked about your grandmother," Alan replies. Shinsuke can picture him shaking his head. “In high school I asked you if you had any parents and you didn't tell me they were in a grave, like you would if they were dead, I think. But you never really talked about them."

"Ah." Shinsuke must be weird if he's never talked about his parents. All he does is talk about his grandmother. He wonders why. “Well, they are part of the Kita, so they moved to the countryside every spring to come home in the fall. They still work in the rice fields today. During the summer holidays, I loved going to help them. Toshio says that’s why they knew I would go into the family business. I was staying in town because of school. And for grandma. She needed to be in the hospital more often at the time, I don't remember why, but I couldn't have left her alone."

"Wasn't there an adult with you?" Alan asks. "I'm sure leaving a child with a sick grandmother wasn't your family's best thought choice."

"I never said my family was good at making decisions," Shinsuke retorts, with half a laugh. “When my parents came back, I remember my grandma telling me  _ you're happy because they're coming back, _ but I didn't believe it. The first year they left, I planted a clandestine peach tree on the streets, with the help of a child, because I was sure that if I saw something grow, I would calm down. I do not know why. I was sure of it. For you, I planted so many rice seeds."

"Ah, I'm flattered."

"When you arrive, we can eat the rice I planted."

Alan snorts a laugh. "Can't wait," he replies.

I cannot wait. Even Shinsuke can't wait. "I love you, I can't wait."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Shinsuke kisses his fingertips as if they were the most precious thing in this world and Alan feels his knees give up and the need to rest his forehead on Shinsuke’s shoulder, who laughs softly, rubbing his nose against his neck. 

"So, will you help me?" he asks, continuing to hold their hands tight and tightly intertwined. 

And he  _ knows _ what effect he has on Alan.

Shinsuke always says what he thinks, that's why he's scary. Alan took a long time to tell Shinsuke how he felt about him because he was afraid of clear rejection. Shinsuke would look him in the eye, raise an eyebrow and shake his head.  _ No, I'm sorry. _ Alan had seen it in his head a billion times when he realized he had feelings for Shinsuke. In the gym, or as they walked home, or even as they met in the corridors and Shinsuke greeted him.  _ No, thank you, I don't feel the same. _ And then it would all end like this. With a no thanks. Maybe even with a:  _ sorry _ . Alan would have hated it.

Even after that sudden kiss on the cheek during the  _ matsuri, _ Alan was convinced that the answer to his possible confession would be an,  _ ah, no, I'm sorry _ (without  _ thanks _ at this point) and when he realized that one of the twins realized the way he looked at the then Kita, he thought his life could end at that moment. 

Alan was ready to pay the consequences of being -stupid. Because the point here is that no matter how mature or intelligent he and Shinsuke may be, it was common knowledge that together they formed a complete idiot, as Alan relied on Shinsuke and Shinsuke on Alan without thinking.

It was Shinsuke who first spoke of his feelings. 

Not talking, but he showed them to Alan, at first with gestures, which resulted in their first clumsy kiss in which Shinsuke had closed his eyes and tried to make himself understood in the most immediate way he knew. They were at the end of college and it didn't help. They had to split almost immediately and Alan was sure Shinsuke could change his mind in the blink of an eye. And now and then, when he was alone, in his Tokyo apartment, he could hear Shinsuke's voice repeating  _ ah, no, I'm sorry, I don't feel the same. _ As if all this were a curse. 

If they both had been to university, there would have been no problem, but Shinsuke, despite the perfect school career and the highest grades, opted to stay in the family business immediately after graduation and Alan remained in town until graduation only to then go to Tokyo. They would have had more time if Alan hadn't been a coward. It has been at least four years wasted. 

_ Four. Years. _

When Shinsuke began to calculate how many days they could spend together in a year, Alan was sure that the end of the conversation would be:  _ and for this reason, perhaps it is better if we forget this story. _ A new version of  _ no, thank you, sorry I don't feel the same. _ When Shinsuke didn't say anything - well, Alan can't say he was relieved, because he felt that speech weighing on his shoulders. 

Shinsuke has always been the kind of person who doesn't talk much. He follows his routines, he follows his rituals. If Alan is not involved in the rituals - is there room for him in Shinsuke's life? He kept repeating it to himself and, as he tried to talk about it, Shinsuke talked about how much more important his career as an athlete was. 

Alan hated the situation. But when he went to visit him, at home, when Shinsuke moved towards him and had spent seven days near him, he listened to him, spoke to him, let him know, without even realizing it, that Alan is part of his daily routine (because he keeps practicing volleyball) (he does it for when Alan has to get home) (He does it because he can help him in his passion) and it made him feel so loved that most of that anxiety had disappeared. 

And when, at a time when Shinsuke was able to get away from his rice fields, he did not hesitate to go to Tokyo to cheer in the stands for Alan, with his grandmother and T-shirts made especially for the occasion. That too made him feel like whatever stupid thing Alan might do, Shinsuke will be there to support him (and scold him).

Shinsuke feels the same thing Alan feels for him. But it's not fair that only Alan has these reactions to touches or words. 

"I already told you yes," he murmurs against Shinsuke's shoulder.

"I wanted to be sure," Shinsuke replies monotone. "Grandma says planting lavenders together on the doorstep brings luck and happiness to the house itself, so I thought we could too."

"Yes" replies Alan.

“Because this will be your home for all the summers,” Shinsuke clarifies. "One hundred and nine days, okay? Not one less and no corners of solitude."

"It was a joke," Alan laughs.

Shinsuke tilts his head. "Then no jokes," he orders.

Alan laughs even harder and then hugs Shinsuke. He smells like wet soil and freshly cut grass. When they went to high school, Shinsuke always smelled like lemon dish soap. It's amazing how much people can change. It's amazing how little Alan wants to let go.

He feels Shinsuke moving his head as if he were a cat who has to decide what to do, and then he moves an arm, to wrap his head around Alan and put his hand in his hair, and hug him. "I love you too" he replies.

  
  



End file.
